


All Bets Are Off

by mithrel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blanket Permission, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley was currently straddling an angel.  He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened.  There had been a bottle of Riesling, and a somewhat drunken challenge from Aziraphale that he was immune to fleshly temptation, which Crowley had just as drunkenly accepted, and now they were…here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Bets Are Off

Crowley was currently straddling an angel.

He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. There had been a bottle of Riesling, and a somewhat drunken challenge from Aziraphale that he was immune to fleshly temptation, which Crowley had just as drunkenly accepted, and now they were…here.

They were both still fully clothed, and that wouldn’t do at all. Crowley reached down to start unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt, revealing a chest that, though plump, was not unappealing.

Aziraphale lifted up so he could pull the shirt out from under him. Now what?

Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale’s neck. No reaction. He stroked down Aziraphale’s sides, and the angel twitched.

Crowley smirked evilly, an idea worming its way into his mind. Aziraphale gulped. “Crowley? What are you–?”

Without warning Crowley dug his hands into Aziraphale’s ribs.

 _That_ got a reaction. Aziraphale squirmed and tried to buck him off, but Crowley just shifted with him. “Crowley! What are you… _s-stop_ it!” and then he dissolved into giggles.

Crowley smirked at him. “Now why would I do that?” The way Aziraphale was squirming underneath him was delicious, and if he wasn’t mistaken he could feel the beginnings of interest there.

He kept tickling him for a few minutes, then stopped. Aziraphale lay there, trying to catch his breath. “Oh you… _wicked_ thing.”

Crowley grinned. “At your sssservice.”

He ground his hips down and Aziraphale’s breath hitched. _Hmmm. Not so immune as we thought, are we?_

Crowley wriggled downwards, opening Aziraphale’s slacks and contemplating the very definite erection in front of him. He leaned forward to breathe moist, hot air on the tip and Aziraphale made a soft noise in his throat.

He licked his tongue out, curiously, and Aziraphale’s hips bucked up. “Crowley, if you don’t…” He left the threat unfinished.

Crowley grinned again and began suckling the angel’s erection, letting go of his form enough that his tongue forked.

Aziraphale’s hands came up to tug at his hair, and Crowley chuckled. _That_ got a gasp and a moan from the angel, and then Crowley really got serious.

It was nowhere near the first time Crowley had done this–temptation was his stock-in-trade, after all–but it _was_ the first time he’d done it to an angel, and he was shocked at how strongly Aziraphale was reacting. Shocked and a little proud. He knew the angel wasn’t as strait-laced as he always pretended.

Crowley flicked his tongue along the underside of Aziraphale’s shaft, keeping hold of his hips, because he might not need to breathe, or have a gag reflex, but he still didn’t fancy being choked.

Aziraphale’s hands were buried in Crowley’s hair, his head thrown back, and he was making little _Oh, oh, oh_ noises. Suddenly the hands in his hair tightened, and the angel arched up and came down his throat.

Crowley swallowed it and then pulled off, licking his lips ostentatiously. Aziraphale closed his eyes and his head fell back on the mattress.

Crowley moved to get up, but a hand caught his wrist. He stared down at the angel, gobsmacked again.

Aziraphale smiled at him, and on anyone else Crowley would call it a smirk. “Now my dear, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t return the favour?”

And abruptly Crowley found himself flat on his back on the bed, while a…screw it, a _smirking_ angel loomed over him.

He didn’t feel drunk anymore…or not from the alcohol, and _Aziraphale_ certainly wasn’t acting drunk. Except Crowley was fairly sure that he wouldn’t be tearing open the fastening on Crowley’s trousers if he were sober.

Then he stopped thinking altogether, because Aziraphale had taken him in his hand and started stroking. And _fuck,_ Crowley must have been more of an influence than he’d thought, because this was not innocent in any way whatsodamnever.

He moaned and arched up into the touch, momentarily ashamed of himself before deciding it didn’t matter. He could plead drunkenness, or insanity, or shock or something.

Aziraphale leaned toward him, and Crowley turned his head, because that was _not_ part of this, wasn’t the _point,_ but Aziraphale was insistent and Crowley found himself being kissed, quite without his permission.

It wasn’t actually so bad…it was quite good, especially with Aziraphale’s fingers still moving around him. Crowley ejected that thought from his head with extreme prejudice, because he was a demon, and demons didn’t _kiss._

Aziraphale pulled back from him slightly, breathing hard against his mouth, and twisted his wrist.

Crowley’s hips bucked up, and he came, hard, with a cry of “ _Angel!_ ”

Afterwards he closed his eyes and buried his head in the pillows, the alcohol completely gone from his system now. What had he just _done?!_ He’d corrupted a bloody _angel!_ He might have been happy about it when they were first stationed here but not now. Not now.

More to the point, what had he been _thinking_ while he was… He groaned.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Crowley?”

He ignored it, hoping Aziraphale would just go away.

The hand turned him back over, and he saw Aziraphale looking contrite. “My dear, I’m sorry.”

He laughed, then winced at the bitterness in the sound. “What are _you_ ssssorry for?”

“I thought it would be easier this way.”

The significance of that remark took a moment to sink in, but when it did he bolted upright. “You _planned_ thisss?” he hissed accusingly.

“Well, no,” Aziraphale said, fiddling with a loose thread on the sheet. “That is, not exactly. Not as such. I just thought, if I was ever going to do it…” he trailed off, blushing becomingly.

“Let me get this straight,” Crowley growled. “You’ve apparently been entertaining decidedly un-angelic ideas for…how long exactly?” he queried.

Aziraphale blushed again. “Longer than I care to contemplate,” he mumbled.

“So you decided to _seduce me while drunk–_ ”

“My dear, it wasn’t like that at all!” Aziraphale protested. “I just…I knew you’d never agree otherwise.”

“Who says?” _What am I_ saying?

Aziraphale cocked his head at him. “Are you saying you _would_ have agreed?”

“That’sss not the point!”

“I rather think it is.”

“I don’t want you to Fall because of me,” Crowley muttered, wondering when his mouth had decided to start speaking without his permission.

Aziraphale blinked at him. “What?”

Well, he’d already said it, the damage was done. “I don’t want you to Fall because of me,” Crowley repeated, his face hot, and dammit, demons didn’t _blush_ either!

Aziraphale took his hand. “Dearest, I have no intention of Falling.”

“But…you…” Crowley sputtered.

“Why should this make me Fall?”

“It’s _Lust!_ Cardinal sin!”

“‘But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and the greatest of these is love,’” Aziraphale quoted, and Crowley stared.

“Oh no. Oh _he-_ _fuck_ no!”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed quizzically. “Crowley?”

“You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying, you can’t love me, I’m a _demon–!_ ” _Would that be such a bad thing?_ an old, near-forgotten part of himself whispered. Crowley quashed it viciously.

Aziraphale cut him off with a hand on his lips. “You weren’t always.”

“But–but…”

“You weren’t always a demon, and you’re still a good person. Why shouldn’t I love you?”

Crowley groaned. He couldn’t deal with this. He needed a drink–but no, that was what caused this whole mess in the first place. “Angel–”

“I don’t expect anything in return,” Aziraphale said gently, and Crowley felt a stab of undemonly guilt, “but I’m afraid there’s no changing it after this long.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “How long, exactly?”

The angel shrugged. “Since some time in the 1700s.”

 _Some time in the…_ “Then why tell me _now?_ ” If he’d kept quiet for this long…

Aziraphale shrugged again, muscles shifting under his skin, which Crowley tried not to notice. “It seemed appropriate.”

“But _why?!_ ” Crowley burst out. “Why do you…” he stopped, unable to say it. He’d failed as an angel, then failed as a demon, but he wasn’t _that_ much of a failure. He didn’t want (deserve) anyone’s love, especially Aziraphale’s.

“Why do I love you?” Aziraphale asked, ignoring his wince. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve always tried to do the right thing, despite the fact that by all accounts you shouldn’t. You’re a good person and I’d rather have you on my side than anyone in Heaven.”

Crowley swallowed, throat oddly constricted. “Fine! Since I apparently can’t change it I’ll have to deal with it. But don’t expect me to like it!”

Aziraphale smiled at him and nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to.”

And, looking at him, Crowley felt something small and content unfurl in his chest.


End file.
